The Other Side
by Agent Ninety-Nine
Summary: After failing the Muskehound entrance test, Dogtanian drowns his sorrows and wakes up with a hangover and a commission in the Cardinal's Guards. Can he get back where he belongs without losing everything?
1. The Night Before

Dogtanian felt as though a sword had pierced his heart. Today should have been the proudest day of his life - the day on which he was finally accepted into the hallowed ranks of the Musketeers. He had strained every nerve in the tests, pushing his mind and body to their limits, and had passed with flying colours. But Cardinal Richelieu's machinations had spoiled things for him once again. Because of his opponent's cheating, Athos, Porthos and Aramis had stepped in to help their young friend. However, the entrance test for the King's Musketeers must be done unaided. Thus Dogtanian had been refused the commission he craved so badly.

"Here, Dogtanian, drink this." Athos lumbered towards him with a foaming pint of beer. "It'll make you feel better!"

After the day's disasters the three Muskehounds and the Gascon pup had retired to an inn, the Peke and Pretzel. They cracked half-hearted jokes and tried to speak of other matters, but an air of gloom lay over the normally merry foursome.

Porthos was gravely concerned about his companion. Dogtanian took everything so seriously, throwing himself heart and soul into whatever he did. His desire to become a Muskehound was so strong that Porthos feared failure might kill him.

"It's not the end of the world, Dogtanian," he said gently, putting a gloved paw on the youngster's shoulder. "You know what they say - if at first you don't succeed, try, try again."

"Owww, but I tried so hard already! And Widimer cheated! It's not _faaaaair_!" Dogtanian threw his head back and howled, beating his fists on the table.

Aramis looked round to make sure nobody influential was witnessing this puppy tantrum.

"Really, Dogtanian! You must learn to accept life's setbacks with equanimity." He struck a pious attitude. "Consider the lilies of the field. They toil not, neither do they spin, yet..."

At that moment a young dog in the uniform of the Musketeers burst into the room. "Porthos! Athos! Aramis! Thank goodness I found you! The King needs all his Musketeers right away!"

The wooden bench toppled with a crash as the four stood up, hands on hilts.

"Not you, Dogtanian," added the young Musketeer. "Full members of the Muskehounds only."

Athos made a fist. "Hey! Dogtanian has just as much right - ""We don't have time for that now, Athos," Porthos said quietly. "Come on.""One for all and all for one!" As Aramis followed the others without so much as a backwards glance, Dogtanian slumped back down, utterly defeated.

"Pardon me, but is this seat taken?" Dogtanian's eyes flicked briefly to the speaker, a Dalmatian in a blue tabard. "No sir, go right ahead," he replied listlessly.

"Many thanks. Oh, I'm Bouton."

"Dogtanian of Béarn at your service." Normally Dogtanian announced himself proudly, with a sweeping bow and a lift of his floppy hat. Tonight, though, he mumbled his name into his tankard. The stranger seemed impressed all the same, however.

"An honour, sir. I have heard much about you. But I see your glass is empty - please do me the favour of allowing me to refill it!"

Several refills later, the two had become firm friends. They swapped jokes and sang some of the good old songs, and Dogtanian's troubles seemed less important than before. Then Bouton said something which made his companion leap up and dash his ale to the floor.

"Do you mean to tell me I have been drinking with a _Cardinal's Guard_? If it wasn't for you stinking mongrels I would be a Musketeer today!"

"Come, my friend, we're not as bad as all that! Perhaps you should join us. _We_ don't reject promising candidates on some feeble excuse, the way your precious Muskehounds did."

Dogtanian squinted at the Dalmatian. What Bouton was saying seemed to make sense - if only his head wouldn't spin so! He shook it hard, his long ears flapping.

"Never! I'd rather die!"

"Why, I imagine someone as talented as yourself could be a Captain of the Guards in no time," Bouton continued. "Wouldn't it be great if you had Widimer's job? I'm sure you'd be better at it than that useless lump."

Dogtanian was about to voice another indignant refusal, but then Bouton began an impression of his Captain, puffing his cheeks out and protesting in a hoarse voice. At that moment it seemed the most hilarious thing Dogtanian had ever seen. Twiddling an imaginary moustache, Bouton brought out a quill and two pieces of paper.

"Hey Dogtanian, I'm too fat and stupid to lead the Guards any more!" he said in the Captain's voice. "Will you take my place? Just sign here in duplicate and you'll be a Cardinal's Guard just like me!"

Giggling, Dogtanian took the pen and signed the papers that jumped unsteadily before his hazy eyes. At once Bouton snatched one copy of the document away. "Thank you, Monsieur, that's perfect," he said in his own accent, no longer sounding in the least bit drunk. "I'll see you on the parade ground - tomorrow!"

The first bright rays of dawn made Dogtanian wince and cram his face further into the pillow. Somewhere a cock crowed, and the sound was like a peal of bells in the pup's head. He sat up.

"Oh Planchet, I feel terrible! What happened?"

"You're hung over, Master," the brown bear at his bedside said respectfully. "Here, drink this - it will make you feel better."

Dogtanian eyed the glass proffered by his manservant. The liquid within was pinkish and unappetising, but he trusted Planchet. He swallowed it in one gulp, shuddering as it slipped down.

His little attic room came into better focus, and his head grew less muzzy. As it did he remembered something. Hopping out of bed, he grabbed his jacket and rummaged through the pockets. His heart turned cold as he discovered a piece of paper and quickly scanned through it.

"Oh no. Planchet, what have I done?" He held out the paper. Planchet craned forwards and read:

**I, ****DOGTANIAN OF BÉARN****, having taken the oath on this day ****APRIL THE EIGHTH****, do hereby solemnly swear to serve Cardinal Richelieu loyally as one of his Guards.**

The signature beneath was shaky, but recognisably Dogtanian's. The bear's brow furrowed.

"I'll get Porthos and the others. I think you should talk with them."

Athos winked at the waitress, a slim young poodle. She giggled as she placed a towering pile of croissants, pains au chocolat and other delicacies before him.

"Athos, can we concentrate on Dogtanian's problem?" Porthos asked patiently. "I can't think on an empty stomach!" the mastiff protested, patting his belly. Aramis selected a bread roll and spoke a Grace as he broke it.

Dogtanian watched his friends, feeling nauseous, and took a sip of the orange juice Porthos had insisted he should try to get down.

"The way I see it," Athos said, spraying the others with crumbs, "Dogtanian just has to not show up. Who wants to be a Cardinal's Guard?"

"He signed an oath." Porthos crossed his arms. "It's a question of honour."

"Then he has to behave so badly he gets thrown out. Simple. I don't know what you're all so worried about." Laughing, Athos took a giant bite of his breakfast.

"Not so simple, my friend." Aramis had brought an ancient leather-bound copy of the Muskehounds' code, which he liked to study in the evenings. "If someone is dismissed dishonorably from the Cardinals' Guards, he will never be permitted to enter the ranks of the Musketeers!"

"N-never?" Dogtanian quavered. If it was possible to feel any worse than he had when he woke up, he did now.

"I'm sorry, Dogtanian, but it looks like you'll have to stick it out until we can think of some way to get you out of there." Porthos glanced at the sun. "It's almost eight - you'd better report to the parade ground."

Dogtanian bit his lip. "Farewell my friends, I hope we meet again soon!"

He set off at a run for a place he had never dreamed he would enter: the headquarters of the Cardinals' Guards, sworn rivals to King Louis's Muskehounds.


	2. The Morning After

The low morning sun shone directly into Dogtanian's face, making him screw up his eyes and aggravating his headache. He stood at attention with the other guardsmen, a head shorter than the rest. They had been drawn up for half an hour, awaiting Captain Widimer, and Dogtanian's legs were starting to wobble.

At last the stocky Captain came waddling over, puffing and mopping his brow. He began his inspection, examining each of his men minutely. Though he himself slouched and wore the remains of his breakfast on his front, woe betide the soldier whose dress or attitude fell short of perfection. When he reached Dogtanian, who had chosen a position in the hindmost rank, he started with surprise and his piggish eyes bulged. "What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded, pushing his face into the pup's.

Bouton stepped forward with a snappy salute. "I recruited him last night, Sir."

Dogtanian knew he must not move, not even his eyes, but his whole body strained to leap on the speaker and attack him.

"I...see." Widimer stroked his chin, at a loss. He paused in front of Dogtanian for a long moment. "See he gets a proper uniform!" he snarled at last, before turning on his heel and marching to the front of the column.

It was a long morning. As the sun climbed higher and warmed the flagstones of the square, Widimer relentlessly drilled the Cardinal's Guards.

"Left...left...left-right-left. About..._turn_! Turn to the right, right..._turn_! No, no, no, you useless bunch of mongrels! We're not Muskehounds - we don't just wander about as we please, we _march_!"

At this, the latest in a string of insults to his beloved Musketeers, Dogtanian's lip curled. He was dressed in the blue tabard and white gloves of the Cardinal's Guards. The unfamiliar uniform was itchy and stiff, and it smelled. Without his red jacket and the plumed hat his father had given him, he looked and felt like a stranger. Even the boots were of a different design to his own and several sizes too large.

"At ease, men! Stand easy." Dogtanian was not the only one to shake himself and pant after the punishing exercises. "I have to see the Cardinal. You're all dismissed for half an hour." Widimer saluted and hurried away.

The guards sat or lay on the pavement. Some ate snacks they had brought, some strolled over to the fountain for a drink. Dogtanian sought out Bouton. He found him surrounded by a group of friends, and charged in with his usual headstrong abandon.

"You tricked me! Prepare to die!" His sword flashed as he began to slide it from the sheath, but before he could withdraw it four guards were on top of him.

"No fighting on the parade ground! How dare you draw your sword upon your comrade?" A burly sheepdog had him by the shoulders.

"He is not my comrade! I wouldn't be here at all if he hadn't taken advantage of me!" snapped Dogtanian, struggling to break loose. By now a crowd had gathered; many of the soldiers recognised Dogtanian and, like their captain, had wondered how he came to be here.

"Let him go, Boniface." Bouton spoke quietly. "Dogtanian - I was acting under orders." Before Dogtanian could ask who had ordered him, and why, he had walked away.

When Widimer arrived at the Cardinal's sanctum he found Count Rochefort already there. The two glared at each other, for they were old rivals; Rochefort despised Widimer as a simple soldier, while Widimer distrusted Rochefort's sly, underhand ways.

"Your Eminence, what is Dogtanian doing in my squad?" Widimer asked without preamble, forgetting even to remove his hat in the Cardinal's presence. Rochefort gave a pointed cough and pointed to his own bared head.

A humourless smile spread up the Cardinal's jowls, and his hooded eyes regarded Widimer with sadistic pleasure.

"I believe that one should keep one's friends close at hand, but one's enemies closer," he purred. "That boy has caused more trouble for me than the rest of the Musketeers put together. Under your watchful eye, Widimer, he will have less opportunity for mischief. And Porthos and his friends will be disconsolate at the loss of their little mascot." He glanced between his two henchmen. "The idea was Rochefort's."

Widimer snorted. "I might have known! Rochefort loves to make my life difficult." "If Widimer cannot control one small puppy, perhaps he should not be in command of the guards?" Rochefort suggested, leaning back in his chair. The Cardinal watched them bicker. If he had not been so dignified a personage, an observer might have thought him amused.

"Enough," he said quietly. The raven on his shoulder shifted from claw to claw, chuckling to itself.

"Tomorrow the Musketeers parade through the streets of Paris to celebrate the victory at La Rochelle. The Cardinal's Guards...will line the route." Richelieu and Widimer shared a bitter look; it was a great slight that the Musketeers had been chosen to march in full battle uniform while the Guards would act merely as policemen to control the crowd.

"Second place again, eh Widimer?" The Captain squirmed and scowled at Rochefort's taunt.

"Treville's men will be in the public eye all day, so it is imperative that their behaviour be impeccable. If something should happen to make them break rank or otherwise act in a disorderly fashion, the Musketeers' reputation might never recover." The Cardinal's baleful yellow orbs fixed on Widimer. "My guards will be in the perfect position to ensure that something _does_ happen."

"Yes, your Eminence!" Widimer smirked. This kind of trickery was one he well understood.

Rochefort leaned over. "Can we trust you, Widimer? Remember, the disturbance must not be traced to the Guards."

"Oh, I think I can manage, thank you Rochefort," Widimer said smugly. Then he remembered. "But hey, what about Dogtanian?"

The Cardinal smiled. "He will either obey orders, in which case the Muskehounds will disown him, or he will side with his old comrades, which will earn him expulsion from the Guards and mean he can never enter the Musketeers. Either way, his presence will add to the general confusion. If you could come up with some way to make him the scapegoat, that would be ideal. But make sure he knows nothing of what is afoot until it is too late to warn his friends, for that he will undoubtedly try to do. Now, Captain, get back to your men, for who knows what devilry they may be getting up to in your absence!"

The afternoon was taken up with weapons drill. Dogtanian had always used a sword; he knew nothing of the awkward pike and less of firearms. He tried his best for the honour of the Musketeers, but knew he was putting on a poor show. Widimer thought, or pretended to think, that he was going wrong on purpose, and the pup found himself doing press-ups in front of the entire company as punishment.

Nor did his torment end there. When the bugler had blown the dismissal and the troops had fallen out, Widimer's heavy paw fell on Dogtanian's shoulder.

"I've never seen such poor drill in my life. You're on fatigues, young man!"

"Uh...fatigues?"

Dogtanian's puzzlement did not last for long. He was made to sweep the parade ground, clean the weapons and shine the officers' boots, then wash up the plates from which he and a hundred other hungry guardsmen had eaten their bread and cheese at dinner. At last he was done, and prepared to stagger away. The long day was over, and soon he would meet with Porthos, Athos and Aramis. Hopefully they would have come up with a plan while he was trapped here.

"And where are you going?" It was the orderly, a dour greyhound. "All cadets are confined to barracks. Quick now, or you're on a charge!"

Dogtanian sighed and trailed up to the barracks. He found an unclaimed place in the long row of iron bedsteads and took off his hat and boots. Then he crossed to the window and stared out between the bars. Somewhere out there his friends were drinking or playing cards. And somewhere out there was his beloved Juliette. As he watched the lamps of Paris light one by one he knew he could never, never last another day as a Cardinal's Guard.


	3. The Grand Parade

Dogtanian woke knowing something special was happening today. Without opening his eyes he snuggled cosily into his blankets, trying to remember what it was. From the colour of the light on the inside of his eyelids it was another beautiful day, which was important because...because...

Of course! The Parade! The Musketeers were to march through Paris in full dress uniform, to celebrate the King's victory at La Rochelle. Athos, Porthos and Aramis would be up at the front, having been important figures in the campaign. Although he would not see them he would be part of the same parade, marching proudly with the other cadets at the very back of the procession.

Then he sat up and looked around, and immediately unleashed a howl of despair that brought startled heads grumbling out of their own sleep. He was not in his attic room at the Bonacieux house, but the long barracks of the Cardinal's Guards. And he would not be marching with Treville's cadets, because he was one no longer.

Life had never seemed crueller to the young pup than it did on that glorious, sunny morning. As he toyed with his porridge he could already see the parade in his imagination: sunlight gleaming off polished buttons, baldrics bright with brass, boots polished so each toecap was a mirror. The Guards had been told at breakfast that their duty would be to line the Musketeers' route and keep the crowds in check. Would his friends smile and wave as they passed him, or would they look glassily to the front, ignoring the shabby little guard dog in his ill-fitting uniform?

Several of the Guards, he noticed, bore a secretive look this morning, and some nudged each other and pointed at him. He supposed they thought it hilarious that he was going to miss out on a treat; the downfall of a Musketeer was cause for great pleasure among their rivals. Well, let them laugh. He would be out of here soon enough - he trusted the grave, intelligent Porthos and quick-witted Aramis to come up with some scheme to rescue him. Too bad they couldn't do it before today, but they would be busy. He knew his friends had not forgotten him.

Indeed, Dogtanian was at that very moment the subject of discussion between Monsieur de Treville, Captain of the Musketeers, and his three favourite officers, Porthos, Athos and Aramis.

"My only worry is Dogtanian," Treville was saying. The Three Muskehounds nodded in agreement.

"We can trust the Musketeers not to break rank if the Guards try anything. They have been told to ignore any low tricks that are played; if it becomes necessary, the three of us will split off as if it were part of the show, and deal with whatever arises." Porthos stroked his chin. "If no one responds to whatever they try to pull, Richelieu's men will look ridiculous. However, Dogtanian is certain to react fiercely if anything occurs to disrupt the parade, and he may be more hindrance than help."

"I agree," Aramis joined in. "I wish there were some way we could warn him what's likely to happen. Discretion is not young Dogtanian's strong suit."

"I know, what about Pip?" Athos beamed.

"Pip? The mouse who lives with Dogtanian?" Treville frowned.

"Yes, he can get anywhere. He'll take a message to Dogtanian for us. I'll go to Dogtanian's house; Planchet will know where to find him."

"Excellent idea, my friend!" Porthos nodded his approval. "With that worry out of the way, we can concentrate on putting on a good show for the citizens of Paris this afternoon."

Positions for the parade were being given out. Dogtanian was pleased despite himself to find he had been assigned to the broad Champs Elysées. It was an important post, since it was here that people were most likely to surge forward and try to touch the heroes and their horses. It was here, too, that the Musketeers would spread out and perform a series of drill exercises. It might break his heart to see the spectacle and take no part in it, but at least he could gladden himself by watching his friends' glory.

He was standing at the tail end of the line - they were arranged in height order - when Dogtanian felt something tug at his sword. He looked down in annoyance, and was amazed to see a large grey mouse hiding between his feet.

"Pip, my friend! How wonderful to see you!"

"No time for that, Dogtanian!" rasped the mouse. "Athos sent me to tell you that the Cardinals' Guards are gonna try and disrupt the parade this afternoon." He continued speaking, but his next words were drowned by a shouted command from Widimer. "Do you understand?" he concluded.

Dogtanian nodded grimly. He understood all right.

"Good! I got to go before I'm caught. Don't want to get you into trouble. Good luck, Dogtanian." In a series of bounds and scurries, Pip had left the yard.

Dogtanian frowned as he stood in rank. So the Guards were going to pull one of their rotten stunts to disgrace his friends, were they? Good job he, Dogtanian, was around to put a stop to it. Whatever they did, he would be ready. He resolved to spring into action as soon as anything suspicious happened...

The Cardinal's Guards were in their positions by ten in the morning. There were two hours to wait before the parade started, but already crowds were forming in the squares and standing two deep along the roads. Dogtanian knew the great love and pride that the people of Paris felt for their Musketeers, and he rejoiced for his friends. The Guards, on the other hand, were the butt of many a joke, and he had to withstand the crowd's abuse as he held them back from crossing the street.

"Madame, you and your baby cannot cross here, for at any moment the Musketeers will come by on their horses and you could both be trampled!" Dogtanian spread his arms to prevent an indignant woman from passing.

"Good work, Dogtanian," said the sheepdog Boniface. "Often civilians are their own worst enemy!" Dogtanian smiled back instinctively; this was the first word of praise he had had from the mouth of one of his new allies.

There was a stir in the crowd, a murmur travelling from one to the next. The procession was approaching! Dogtanian stood straight and tall, hand snapped to his brow in a stiff salute, and watched with awe as the full splendour of the parade came into view.

They were led by a band: trumpets and pipes sounded a victory hymn, while drummers kept the marching dogs in step. Not that they needed this cue, for they moved as one unit, keeping perfect time.

A cheer went up for Monsieur Treville, a splendid sight on his grey war-horse with a long plume nodding from his hat of rich purple felt. He raised his sword high in his right hand, acknowledging the people. Behind him rode the Three Muskehounds: Porthos, Athos and Aramis in line abreast, so perfectly parallel that even the noses of their horses were exactly level with each other and the three sets of hooves clipped down as one. Porthos and Aramis looked straight ahead, eyes on the horizon with a noble air. But Athos gave Dogtanian a cheery wink, which the pup gratefully returned.

The rest of the corps followed closely on their horses of chestnut, dapple, black and dun. At the very rear of the procession, Dogtanian knew, though they had not yet come into sight, would be the cadets, on foot. And he would have marched at their head, for he was easily the best swordsman among the recruits and the only one already to have distinguished himself in the service of France. He allowed himself a tiny sigh.

That was when he saw a movement in the crowd opposite. His eyes flicked instinctively to the minute gleam of metal; though it was probably a brooch or a tin tankard, a soldier is always alert to the possibility of a drawn weapon.

Dogtanian gave an involuntary yelp, like a cuffed puppy. "An assassin!" he yelled. Without thinking, he broke rank and ran towards the man who had brazenly produced a gun and aimed it at Porthos' head - almost as if he had wanted Dogtanian to see him. He somersaulted into the air, growling as he went, crashed into the unofficial leader of the Muskehound trio and bore him to the ground. Aramis' horse reared as the spaniel hauled on the reins, desperately trying to avoid trampling his comrade as he fell.

"_Au __secours_! The Cardinal's Guards are attacking us!" The Musketeer cadets were pushing forward, uncertain what was going on but thoroughly indignant and spoiling for a fight. First one, then another darted to the side of the road and pitched into the guardsmen, hate figures of old and the obvious suspects when anything was amiss. The cavalry dismounted and tried to separate the combatants, but soon found the temptation to settle old scores too strong to resist and joined in with a will. Within moments the dignified splendour had degenerated into an ugly brawl. Many of the spectators fled; others took sides and encouraged the participants with cheers, some even placing bets on the outcome.

Porthos, kneeling on the cobblestones, flung an arm over Dogtanian to protect him.

"What is going on?" he hissed angrily. His young friend struggled to get up.

"I saw a man about to fire on you, Porthos!" he protested.

"Even if you did, we will never find him now." Porthos sighed. "This smells like a trick to me. Didn't you get our message to be on your guard?"

"Yes, I did - that's why I was on the alert to stop any attempts to disrupt the parade!"

"Oh, good work, Dogtanian! Look around you!"

Seeing that the Gascon was on the verge of tears, Porthos relented. "It wasn't your fault. You're not the first person to fall victim to the scheming of the Cardinal and you won't be the last. I must help Monsieur Treville restore order - can you keep out of trouble if I leave you here?"

"Yes, Porthos," promised Dogtanian meekly. The Muskehound nodded and dashed off into the melée.

Dogtanian gazed at the spectacle. He was the direct cause of all this. He must do his bit to stop it. Seeing a Musketeer and a Guard rolling on the ground in each other's clutches, all but biting, he rushed over.

"Please stop it, sirs! Now is not the time to fight!" They looked at him. "_You_!" both said together. Dogtanian had succeeded in uniting them - in their hatred of himself.

"Let's get him!" snarled the Muskehound.

"Yes, let's!" the Guard agreed. Getting to their feet, they lunged at the pup as one. Dogtanian ran; he had at least restored harmony to a small section of the Champs Elysées, if not in the manner he had intended.

Next he found two cadets, his former companions, pressing down upon a single Cardinal's man. "Hey, that's not fair! Leave him alone!"

He recognised both cadets: the sharp terrier Lepince and the stolid Dupond. They turned with expressions of surprise.

"Dogtanian! What are you doing in a guard dog's uniform?"

"And why did you attack Porthos?"

"It's all Cardinal Richelieu's doing. This chaos is exactly what he wants. Do please stop fighting!"

Dogtanian was a natural leader among Treville's youngsters, and in the strangeness of the situation they obeyed him without question. "We'll tell the others to quit," volunteered Lepince, and the pair trotted off.

The Guard was getting to his feet, brushing the dust from his cloak and feeling his limbs for injuries.

"You!" Dogtanian gasped. "I should have let them kill you!"

It was the Dalmatian, Bouton. His right arm dangled limp, there was a bloody cut across his forehead and he had lost his hat and one of his boots.

"Dogtanian - you saved my life." His eyes were full of shame. "I did not lie to you at the inn; I really do admire you. But when the Cardinal picked me to recruit you into his guards, I dared not disobey."

"Why did you trick me?" Dogtanian demanded.

"It was hoped you would be so upset at the way the King treated you that you would be willing to join us. A swordsman such as yourself would be a most valuable asset. But if you were still loyal to the Musketeers, Richelieu wanted to get you away from them by deception, to distract Porthos, Athos and Aramis and spread alarm and confusion. You were also most useful today." The Dalmatian winced. Dogtanian sat on the pavement, his head in his hands.

"Oh Bouton, I've been so foolish! What have I done? The Muskehounds will disown me after this, and I am sure to be thrown out of the Guards."

"Listen." Bouton took a seat beside Dogtanian and leaned in to him, though with the battle still raging around them he was unlikely to be overheard. "I'm sorry for what I did, and I owe you a favour. I may have a way to get you out of this."


	4. The Way Out

Evening was drawing on, and hot tempers had cooled in the chillier air. The wounded guards were in the hospital wing, Widimer had gone sweating and panting off to explain the disaster to Cardinal Richelieu, and Dogtanian sat neglected on his barracks bed.

"_Mon __Dieu_, why must I be so impulsive?" he asked out loud. "I am sure to be thrown out of the Guards for this. Not that it matters, for I suspect Monsieur Treville will not want me back among his cadets." He gave a small whimper. No one had yet blamed him for the catastrophe, but he had no doubt that retribution was coming. He was simply not important enough to be bothered with right now. He had disrupted the spectacular parade, disgracing Musketeers and Guards alike in the eyes of the city, and no doubt all of France once the news spread. Why, his actions probably amounted to treason and the King himself would order Dogtanian's head cut off! He shivered at the thought.

"Dogtanian? Are you in here?" A silhouette appeared in the doorway, framed by the soft light from the corridor. Dogtanian, sitting in the gloom, blinked and rubbed his eyes.

"Bouton, is that you? You should be resting!"

"I discharged myself." With a grin, the Dalmatian took a seat beside the smaller dog. "Now listen. I have a plan to get you out of the Cardinal's Guards without expulsion, but you will have to carry it out yourself." He indicated his arm, which was held across his chest by a sling.

"I'll do anything!" Dogtanian said fervently, curling his paw into a fist.

"Well then, do you remember when I tricked you at the inn, I made you sign two pieces of paper?"

"I do," growled the pup, glowering at Bouton.

"You still have one copy?" Dogtanian put a paw to his breast pocket and nodded as he felt the crackle of paper.

"That is your commission. The other copy is in Cardinal Richelieu's private safe; I saw him put it there when I delivered it. The key is in the third drawer of his desk. Take it and destroy both copies, and no one will have any proof that you were ever in the Cardinal's Guards. You will be free to leave."

"But Richelieu's office is locked and heavily guarded!"

"The door, yes. But the window is left ajar for the good of the Cardinal's health, and there is a wisteria plant growing up the wall. Someone small and light should be able to climb it and squeeze in. The guards in the grounds change at midnight, leaving that side of the palace out of sight for a few minutes. Need I say more?"

"Bouton, you are a friend!" Dogtanian breathed.

"Thank you, Dogtanian. To be your friend would be a great honour. I must go now." With a bow, the Dalmatian left.

Dogtanian began planning immediately. He would first have to get out of the barracks. His bed was nearest the window, but from there it was a sheer drop from the first storey. He could not risk a twisted ankle or worse when he would have to move fast and perform feats of agility. So he would have to creep past the other cadets and make his way through the building, avoiding patrols. The doors would be locked, but there was a small window in the pantry which was left open to help keep the food cool.

His schemes were interrupted by a thunder of booted feet as the other cadets came up to bed. Dogtanian gulped and prepared for the onslaught.

"_You_! Made us look like fools!"

"Upset the whole parade!"

"This black eye will take days to heal!"

They advanced on Dogtanian, teeth bared. Things looked bad for our hero, as he had undressed and had nothing with which to defend himself. Then one voice spoke out.

"Don't touch him!"

"What's it to you, Rigolo?" There were snarls of agreement, and the hostile ring closed around Dogtanian. His defender, a jolly-looking white terrier, stepped forward.

"We're cadets; no one ever tells us anything. But I overheard two officers talking. Dogtanian was tricked into doing what he did to make the Musketeers look bad, but it backfired. It's not his fault he broke rank, and it's certainly not his fault those mongrels of Treville's attacked us. Did Dogtanian lift a paw in the fight? No, he tried to stop it. I saw him with my own eyes rescue our comrade Bouton from two Muskehound cadets and take him to safety. And finally, Dogtanian is a Gascon, as am I, and we Gascons stick together. I for one would like to shake him by the hand."

So saying, Rigolo marched over to Dogtanian, removed his hat and extended a paw. Dogtanian took it gratefully.

"Many thanks," he whispered.

"That's alright. My loyalty to my _departmente_ outweighs that which I owe the Cardinal."

The mood changed, for Rigolo was a popular character among the junior guardsmen. Before long a friendly pillow-fight was in progress, and by the time the orderly came to scold them and blow out the candles they were all firm friends.

Most of the occupants of the barracks slept soundly, exhausted by the day's events. But Dogtanian lay awake, pinching himself hard when his tired eyelids threatened to droop shut. Ten o'clock passed, and eleven, marked by the many church bells of Paris. At last he heard the big cathedral bell boom out the quarter to, and slipped out of bed in stocking feet. He made his way to the door, hardly daring to breathe. He almost cried out when one of the sleepers turned over with a loud snore, but all remained still and he completed his journey. Now a slow, slow turn of the handle and a gentle push at the door to prevent its creaking, and he was out in the corridor.

Every second candle had been extinguished, leaving pools of black shadow between the friendly lights. Dogtanian darted from one to the next like a shadow himself, ears cocked for the sound of another being. If caught he planned to say he was thirsty and wanted a drink, but the further he got from the washroom the flimsier the excuse became.

He froze as he heard footsteps approaching, and shrank into the space behind a suit of armour. A long, flickering shadow came into view; a guard carrying a lantern. Dogtanian crouched, putting a paw over his nose as the thick dust in his hiding-place threatened to make him sneeze. Glancing neither right nor left, the guard tramped past. He looked tired and bored, and clearly wished only to reach the end of his patrol and go to bed.

When he was safely out of the way, Dogtanian crossed to the great staircase. Swiftly and silently he slid down the banister rail - the most effective method of missing squeaky steps. Now he was near his goal, but it was darker on the ground floor and he would have to be careful not to trip or knock anything.

Working from memory, he turned left and shuffled carefully towards the kitchen. Something brushed his legs, and he stifled a small yelp before recognising the kitchen cat. "Hello, my friend," he whispered, giving her a stroke. It felt good to have some company as he made his way into the dark pantry.

The morning's meal was laid out ready for breakfast, and Dogtanian had not eaten for hours. His stomach growled, but he shook his head. "I don't have much time," he told himself firmly. His head and shoulders went easily through the window, and after a panicky interval of struggling and kicking the rest of him followed.

It was almost midnight. Dogtanian had just a couple of minutes to get to the south wall, where Richelieu had his office in the tower. Sticking close to the building, he followed it round until he was in the right spot. Clearly in the still night air he heard the departing guards exchanging a few words with the fresh troops, chatting and laughing. Now was his chance.

At first the going was easy. The wisteria was thick at its base and bore his weight well. He scrambled quickly from branch to branch. But halfway up the plant tapered; branches were thinner and further between. As Dogtanian grasped for a handhold he could feel the small suckers that held the creeping plant peel away from the wall. By now, too, the guards would have switched over, and it was only a matter of time before a patrol passed this way. Then his clutching paw found the windowsill, and he hauled himself over it and into the room.

He found himself in the Cardinal's inner sanctum, behind the red velvet curtain that separated this private place from the office where Richelieu received his visitors. In the public area was the safe, and in the safe was his passport to freedom. He raised his hand to part the curtain - then froze. He was not alone.

Three voices came to Dogtanian through the curtain. He knew all of them well. The Cardinal's was sly, dripping with hypocrisy. The blunt, straightforward tones belonged to Dogtanian's former Captain, Monsieur Treville. And the third voice, vague and slightly weak, was that of Louis XIII the Just.

"Gentlemen, as you know, I have summoned you to this midnight meeting to discuss a matter of the greatest importance to France," the King was saying. "I need hardly remind you that should a single word of what we are about to say leaves these four walls, it could spell disaster for our country. But first, I simply must speak to you both about this afternoon's disgraceful exhibition."

"Sir, I cannot -" Monsieur Treville began. At the same time, Richelieu said "It was all the fault of -"

Louis interrupted with more force than he was accustomed to use. "I will not have you try to shift the blame. I have heard the rumours, and I have stopped my ears to them. The fault lies with nobody but the two of you."

Both leaders bowed their heads, ashamed.

"I don't care which side started the riot," the King continued. "This is simply the latest in a string of such incidents. If this petty rivalry between the Musketeers and the Guards does not cease, I shall have to conclude that neither of you is fit to command a force."

Dogtanian's ears burned. Though it went unspoken, he knew that all three must be thinking the blackest thoughts about himself. He wished he were not overhearing this conversation; it went against his honour to eavesdrop. But he could not retreat without making a noise and being discovered; besides, he just had to get that paper.

"I trust I will not have to mention this again," Louis concluded. "And now, on to more important matters."

Dogtanian had no wish to listen to affairs of state. Apart from the fact that politics sent him to sleep, he did not want to be executed as a spy. He glanced around uncomfortably, and suddenly became aware that he was not the sole audience of the King's secret meeting.

Crouched at the other end of the room was a tall hound, caped and masked. He was listening so intently that he had not noticed Dogtanian. The pup realised that this must truly be a spy - from one of the other great powers of Europe, no doubt. He knew that to reveal his own presence would let him in for many an awkward question, but the fate of France was at stake. He gathered himself together and pounced like a cat on the listener, at the same time crying at the top of his lungs "Help! A spy!"

The spy put up quite a fight. Thrashing and biting, the pair rolled through the curtain before the astonished eyes of the King and his companions. Richelieu bellowed for his guards, while Treville drew his sword and watched anxiously for an opportunity to disable his opponent without harming Dogtanian.

When the chance came, Treville made a dive and pinned the struggling spy in his burly arms. Three of the Cardinal's guards arrived in double-time and took him away at gunpoint. Quiet restored, the three men faced Dogtanian, who whimpered as he desperately sought a plausible reason for his presence.

The King broke the silence. Stepping forward, he kissed Dogtanian on both cheeks. "Bravo, my lad! Well done! Where were your guards, Richelieu, eh? Asleep on the job as usual? But this young man encountered a secret agent in your very grounds and followed him on his own initiative." He patted Dogtanian's head. "He must be rewarded. He is one of your cadets, Treville, I believe?"

Treville cleared his throat, still looking confused. "In fact, your Majesty, he is currently serving under the Cardinal."

"Ah, Richelieu, so you do have some men of high calibre among your ranks? Well, well. It is you, then, who must reward your faithful soldier."

His eyes narrowed with distaste, Richelieu turned to Dogtanian.

"It will be my pleasure, your Majesty," he growled, his sulky tones belying his words. "What reward would you like, cadet?"

Dogtanian bowed low. "If you please, sir, I would like to leave the Cardinal's Guards and rejoin the Royal Musketeers."

A tic started under Richelieu's left eye, and he gave a pained grunt.

"Very well. I will, of course, be sorry to lose you."

Monsieur Treville, slightly behind the King, was grinning hugely, but this was visible only to Dogtanian.

"Splendid!" King Louis twirled his small moustache. "I hope that young Dogtanian's serving in both forces will usher in a new age of cooperation between Musketeers and Guards."

The expressions on the faces of the respective factions' leaders said that it was unlikely. Richelieu took a key from his desk, crossed the room to the iron safe and withdrew the second copy of Dogtanian's commission. After showing it to everyone present, he solemnly held one corner to the candle flame. All four watched as it burned away to nothing, and the Cardinal's pet raven gave a satisfied croak.

Dogtanian had to spend one more night in the Guards' barracks after all. As the King drank a toast to him, joined willingly by Treville and less so by Richelieu, he fell fast asleep with his head on the table. Rather than wake him, Louis ordered two guards to carry him gently to bed, and the interrupted discussions resumed. When Dogtanian woke in the morning, he found his familiar old clothes cleaned and pressed on the chair beside him.

He had planned to leave quietly, slipping out of the back entrance as if he had never come. But when he walked into the yard he found the entire force of the Cardinal's Guards lined up in two rows. Was this another scheme to prevent him leaving? He scowled as Widimer walked towards him, and his fingers itched for his sword-hilt.

The Captain of the Guards was in a cheerful mood, despite the humiliation of the day before. He was getting rid of the little troublemaker Dogtanian, Rochefort's plan had gone horribly wrong, and even the Cardinal had not scolded him.

"Farewell, Dogtanian!" he said with his usual swagger. "I hope you will remember the lessons you've learned with us, and always march properly in future!"

"Oh, I will, Captain Widimer!" promised Dogtanian.

"You'll make a fine soldier someday." Widimer concluded. _And I'm glad it's __Treville__ and not me who has the task of making you one!_ he added silently.

It was Rigolo who shouted out "Three cheers for Dogtanian!" as the Gascon marched towards the gate with his head held high. But the loudest cheer was from Bouton.

Only a few paces now separated Dogtanian from his freedom. He could see faithful Planchet waiting outside, holding his beloved horse Sandy by the bridle. There, too, were Monsieur Treville, Porthos, Aramis and Athos, waiting to escort him in style to the headquarters of the Musketeers. And nearest the gate stood...

"_JULIETTE_!"

Forgetting everything Widimer had said about his marching, Dogtanian completed the journey at a run.


End file.
